


Of Lost Memories and New Friends

by oakleaf_bearer



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Memory Loss, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:15:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22150891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oakleaf_bearer/pseuds/oakleaf_bearer
Summary: Clary has lost her memories of the Shadow World and everything in it, but before she loses it all, she meets a friendly face. With her new friend to guide her, she finds her place in the mundane world. But things start to change as her lost memories start to return.Set after the end of the series bc I was mad that Tessa wasn't at the malec wedding
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to @thatwinchestergirl67 for beta reading, it means a lot

Clary ran through the crowd, her hands shaking, tears running down her cheeks. She didn’t think about where she was going, she just moved. Eventually she reached a quieter space and stopped, taking huge gulping breaths. Another Mark faded from her arm, the semi-painful jolt drawing another sob from her lungs.  
‘Is everything okay?’  
The sudden voice made her look up. She had somehow made her way into the room Alec had set up for the ceremony. On one of the chairs sat a young woman with a kind face. She had turned in her seat to peer at Clary through furrowed eyebrows.  
Clary found she couldn’t answer. The words didn’t form in her mouth, replaced by more sobbing. The woman stood in a flurry of skirts and swept down the aisle to her. She hugged Clary tightly as she sank to the ground. Her hand stroked Clary’s hair gently as she rocked backwards and forwards in her arms.  
They stayed like that for several minutes. Eventually, the tears stopped and Clary’s legs started cramping. She pushed herself out of the woman’s arms and looked her in the face. She had elegant features and a sympathetic smile. Her slender fingers tenderly brushed stray hairs out of Clary’s face. She pulled her up so she was standing and sat her down on one of the chairs.  
‘You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but I’m here if you want to talk about it.’ Her words were soft and her voice was tinged with a British accent.  
‘I don’t know if I can talk about it. It might make it worse.’  
‘That’s okay.’ The woman brushed down her skirts. ‘I always cry at weddings too.’  
Clary let out a damp laugh. If this was to be her final moments in the Shadow World, at least she was with someone with a sense of humour. ‘I’m Clary Fairchild.’  
‘I know. I had the pleasure of knowing your mother. She was a dear friend.’  
‘I didn’t see you at the funeral.’  
‘Yes, well. Downworlders weren’t allowed to attend. But I mourned in my own way.’  
Another jolt ran through her arm. She looked down at where one of the black Marks was fading, more tears threatening to fall.  
The woman followed her gaze just in time to see the Mark fade. She smiled sadly. ‘Forgetting the Shadow World is a horrible burden to bear Clary Fairchild. I almost lost it once, a long time ago. Magnus showed me that not everything was hopeless.’ She grasped Clary’s hand in her own. ‘I am not Magnus Bane, but perhaps I can help you. I will stay with you until your last memory is lost. You shouldn’t be alone for this.’  
‘I don’t want to forget.’ Clary’s voice was loud and pained. ‘This life is everything I have left. Without this, I’m nothing.’  
‘Oh no, not nothing. Magnus tells me you’re a talented artist who got accepted into the Brooklyn Academy of Art.’ She glanced at Clary conspiringly. ‘He loves to tell me about his mortals. We compare notes. You may well find that your experiences here may resurface, not as memories but as art.’  
‘I don’t want to be an art student. I want to be a Shadowhunter.’  
‘My husband wanted to be a professional juggler for a while, but the world is cruel and ruthless, and people who deserve to be shadowhunters are art students, and people who want to juggle are shadowhunters. Nonetheless, he was a far worse juggler than you are a shadowhunter.’  
‘You’re married to a shadowhunter?’  
‘I was. A long long time ago.’  
‘I thought Alec and Magnus were the first Shadowhunter Downworlder couple.’  
‘Oh no. They are the first true blooded ones to marry, but myself and my husband were technically the first.’  
Another Mark faded. Clary rubbed her thumb over the spot it had occupied.  
‘What do I do now?’  
‘You go to school. You work hard. You live a safe, mundane life. You be happy.’  
‘Will you stay with me?’  
She smiled again. ‘Of course I will Clary. I’ll stay for as long as you need.’  
‘Thank you.’ Only one Mark was left. The world around them began to fade as her ability to see through the glamour began to vanish. ‘I don’t have much longer.’  
‘I know. I’m here. Just go to sleep, and when you wake up, it will all be a bad dream.’ Clary lay her head on the woman’s shoulder, and shut her eyes. She felt the gentle wash of magic flow over her, helping her fall asleep, and a final tear escaped her eye. 

Tessa Gray stroked her hand through Clary’s hair, and sighed. The girl was so young and had been through so much. She was so similar to how Tessa had been at her age; fearless and fierce.  
‘Was that true about Will? Did he really want to be a juggler?’  
Brother Zachariah stood at the door, his hood down.  
‘For one brief moment when we weren’t sure if the Clave would allow us to get married. He planned to run away with me to Wales like his parents had. Then he remembered he couldn’t juggle.’  
Brother Zachariah smiled and shook his head. ‘That sounds like Will.’ He sat down in the chair behind Tessa and placed his hand gently on her shoulder.  
‘It was a beautiful ceremony. Alec seems like a good man.’  
‘He’s a Lightwood,’ Zachariah said. When Magnus had told the two of them he was getting married, all either had needed to hear was the family name before they agreed to support Magnus through this.  
Tessa nodded. ‘It feels strange. So many of them feel like people I know, or knew a long time ago, and now they’re all here together. Names I know, but faces I don’t. It’s enough to make you believe in fate.’  
They sat in companionable silence for a while. The sounds of the party drifted from the other room.  
‘How are you feeling?’ Zachariah ran his elegant fingers through Tessa’s hair, indulging a rare show of intimacy that set him apart from the other Silent Brothers.  
‘Old.’ She sighed and leaned into his touch. ‘I saw my own blood today and I barely recognised him.’  
‘He’s a long way away from Will, that’s for certain.’  
‘Jace is fierce and formidable and self destructive. He’s a Herondale through and through.’  
‘But he’s not what you expected.’  
‘I should’ve expected that he wouldn’t be what I expected.’ Tessa sighed. ‘Who am I to say what he should be? Poor boy only just found out he is part of our family.’  
Clary stirred on Tessa’s shoulder.  
Zachariah stood. ‘I will leave you to your ministrations.’ He reached out and took Tessa’s hand gently. ‘You have always loved too fiercely for your own good. Remember that she cannot fill every gap in your life.’  
‘I know Jem. But she needs me, and I promised her mother I would look out for her.’  
Zachariah nodded, then pulled up his hood and swept quietly from the room.  
Clary lifted her head, looking around and blinking. She looked at Tessa confused.  
‘Who were you talking to?’  
‘My self.’ Tessa replied. ‘How are you feeling?’  
‘I don’t know. I have a headache.’  
‘I’m not surprised. Come on, let’s get you home.’  
‘Where is that?’  
Tessa considered for a moment, taking in the serious girl in front of her.  
‘We share an apartment in Brooklyn. Come on, we should get home. It’s late.’  
She allowed her magic to drift over to the girl. Memory magic had never been her strong suit, but she knew enough to fill Clary’s head with fake memories of Tessa and their shared apartment. Jem had been right. Clary would never be everything that she needed, but Tessa could be everything Clary needed. A friend, a guardian, a mentor.  
Clary smiled and stood, smoothing down her skirt. ‘What were we talking about? I can’t quite remember.’  
‘Nothing important.’ Together they walked out of the Institute and away down the road, leaving the shadow world far behind them


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter sucks, sorry  
> the next one will be better

‘What was your inspiration?’  
Clary refrained from sighing. Talking about art was fun but answering the same question twenty times in quick succession was irritating. ‘It’s a study into memories. So much of our lives get forgotten and we have no control over it. I wanted to show the decay and loss that comes with time.’ The answer was well rehearsed and made the group nod thoughtfully.  
‘Interesting. An exploration of memories offers lots of opportunities for growth.’   
Nodding, tuning the man out to avoid hearing the same spiel as the rest of the night, Clary looked around the room. Her eyes caught on Tessa standing staring at a piece done by an international student Clary knew only vaguely.   
Excusing herself from conversation, Clary pushed through the crowd, making her way carefully to where Tessa stood.   
‘Homesick again?’ she said, bumping Tessa’s shoulder playfully. ‘Does it count as homesickness if you were born here?’   
Tessa smiled at her tiredly. She gestured to the painting, a view of the London skyline at night, with smoke from chimneys catching the moonlight and the dull shine of streetlamps lining the edge of the Thames. ‘This is the London I remember. Not a modern monolith of a city, but a messy, sprawling patchwork. A living organism. A place so loud and boisterous in the day, and then so quiet at night. New York may be where I was born, but London will always be my home.’   
‘You don’t talk about it much.’  
Another smile. Clary knew her well enough now to know that one of these smiles was the equivalent to a lengthy speech from anyone else. Tessa didn’t deal in words about her own past unless it was absolutely necessary. She left much of her mysterious past in London up to the imagination, and despite Clary’s best efforts, all she had been able to figure out for certain was that Tessa had lost someone very important to her. Anything else, Tessa had once said, was up to the poets. There wasn’t much else to say.   
‘Would you ever go back?’ Clary pried.   
Tessa looked at her, eyes sad. ‘I often do. I try to go back at least once a year. It has gotten harder as time goes on, but I try.’   
She went silent, gazing at the painting like if she looked away it would be lost forever. Clary watched her carefully. Tessa had always been vague about her age. Clary found that she sometimes seemed ancient and wise, while others she seemed as young as Clary. The contradiction confused Clary.   
‘I’m sorry, this isn’t for you to worry about. Ignore my ramblings.’ Tessa turned away from the painting and out across the gallery, considering the people milling about. ‘What do you think they’re talking about?’  
Clary looked at the people Tessa was talking about. She saw a couple talking quietly amongst themselves. ‘I think he’s asking her out for drinks. She’s going to say yes but then ditch him for some friends later.’   
Tessa chuckled softly. ‘Poor man. What about them?’  
Clary looked at the new pair; a wide-eyed woman gazing up at a man who smiled politely back at her. ‘She’s complementing his use of charcoal, not realising the piece isn’t his.’   
This earned her another laugh from Tessa. Clary knew this game of hers. It was another diversion from talking about herself, but it satisfied their shared curiosity about the lives of those around them. Clary looked about the room, searching between the artworks and student guides for a new victim. Her eyes settled on a boy about her age. He was leaning against a pillar, his blond hair catching the light and turning golden.   
‘Him. What’s his story?’   
Tessa looked where she had pointed. She turned suddenly serious. ‘There’s no one there, Clary.’   
‘Sure, there is, look.’ She turned back to look, but the pillar was empty. Her eyes searched the crowd around the pillar, but she caught no sight of the boy.   
‘Perhaps it was a trick of the light. Excuse me for a moment.’ Tessa turned away from Clary, vanishing in the direction the boy had been, leaving Clary alone to wonder why her heart felt suddenly empty. 

The door swung shut behind Tessa. The night air was cold against her arms, but her jacket was inside the gallery.   
‘You need to be more careful.’   
Jace pushed himself out of the shadows at the end of the alley. ‘She didn’t see me.’   
‘Yes, she did. How long do you mean to keep this up? Until she thinks you’re a stalker? Until she calls the mundane police on you?’   
‘Until I know she’s safe.’   
Tessa softened. She stepped forward, laying her hand gently onto Jace’s arm. They were silent for a moment, the sounds of the city washing over them.   
‘I know it’s difficult, but there’s only so much we can do.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘You know that she would tell you to go home and stop worrying, so do that. I’ll keep an eye on her.’   
Jace opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, the door behind them swung open. Clary’s face appeared, the glow of the lights behind her illuminating the alley. She held Tessa’s phone out to her.   
‘Hey, I was trying to find you. Your phone was ringing.’   
Tessa took the phone, looking at the notification on the screen. She had a missed call from Magnus, as well as a few texts.   
‘Why were you out here? Do you secretly smoke?’   
Tessa looked at the alley, watching the shadows Jace had vanished into.   
‘I just needed some fresh air. Clear my head.’  
‘You could’ve worn a jacket for that. Come on, I’m freezing.’   
Clary vanished back inside. Tessa gazed at the shadows, unsure if Jace was still there.   
Lowering her voice, speaking in barely a whisper, Tessa said to the night, ‘Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to her.’


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi  
> its been a really long time since i uploaded  
> i don't really want to go into stuff but basically my family has suffered a pretty major loss so i haven't really been motivated to write anything  
> thanks for all your patience, it means a lot

The lights flickered on as Clary flipped the switch. Outside, the city was covered in a blanket of rain, dark and drizzly, but the studio was warm inside. She crossed over to her easel, pulling away the cover. This new piece was dark, covered in red splotches. A distorted, blurry face peered out of the canvas back at her, half hidden by layers of paint.  
Clary dragged a table next to the easel, picking up a palette and balancing it carefully on the stack of paint tubs. She squeezed small blobs of paint out onto the tray. Humming, she began to paint, the strokes creating a mindless rhythm that she lost herself in. Her hand was not her own, with each stroke bringing to life a buried sensation, the feeling of belonging and being wanted. Her blood burned under her skin, mirrored by the reds and oranges on the canvas. Her veins felt full of fire and her pulse felt like a drumbeat.  
Behind her, the door opened. A figure slipped in, silent and unseen. They watched her paint, a sneer lining their smooth, unblemished face. They approached, feet padding against the studio floor.  
Clary yelped as someone grabbed her shoulders. She was spun around, dropping the paintbrush, leaving a smear of yellow across the centre of the piece. She found herself face to face with a stranger, a man with pale, ghostly skin and a cruel smile across his face.  
‘I found you, little Shadowhunter.’  
Clary struggled in his grasp. His grip on her arms tightened.  
‘You deserve to pay for everything your family has done to my people.’ He growled in her ear. ‘Valentine’s offspring must be punished for his crimes.’  
Clary grabbed at him, catching the soft skin around his eyes with her nails, drawing blood. He cried out, pushing her away. She felt to the ground, desperately scrabbling around for a weapon.  
Her attacker stared at her, fury in his eyes, blood running down his face. He pulled back his lip, bearing sharp, pointed teeth.  
Clary screamed.


End file.
